A Matter of Perspective
by ShreddingRibbons
Summary: Derek has always adored the birth marks that dot Stiles' face. He decides to show Stiles just how much. Sterek
1. A matter of perspective

Someone on the Sterek Tumblr tag suggested a fanfic about Stiles' moles. Seeing as I am practically a walking boner, I obliged.

Disclaimer: I WISH

"What?"

"Nothing."

"…WHAT?"

"Nothing! Jeezus."

It was another one of those nights. You know the type. Another one of those nights where Stiles wandered into his room with a barrel of cheese puffs and went cross-eyed with surprise at the shadow looming by his window. Another one of those nights where Derek shook him like a boyishly handsome ragdoll until he agreed to do some research on nargles or pixies or whatever he asked for. Another one of those nights where he just _knew_ he was going to fail the chemistry test the next day. All because of Derek "I will Gnaw on your Spinal Column" Hale.

Said grumpy predator is currently lounging on Stile's bed, watching him with a sort of half-interest as he taps meaningfully at his computer, and is getting increasingly annoyed with the quick sidelong looks Stiles is frowningly casting at him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, _what?" _The last word comes out a burly growl that Stiles feels more than he hears, obviously meant to scare him into submission. Which it doesn't. Because seriously? When your life becomes a series of appallingly misguided decisions concerning psychologically damaged magical beings, you begin to develop a little friendly mettle. Which Stiles had. So, no, Derek grousing in an admittedly more murderous fashion than most humans were used do did _not_ have him writhing on the ground, begging for mercy, or to at least be buried with both of his nads still intact.

Although it probably would've if he was less turned on.

Stiles sighs and opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly he feels two wolfy eyes begin to burn holes between his shoulder blades. "If you say 'nothing' on more time, I am going to tear off your arm, _and beat you with it._"

"Yeah, ok Mr. Dismemberment. It's just," Stiles gestures in a vague and slightly manic flail, "you're on my bed." The human rolls his eyes as Derek's eyebrows rise. "_In your shoes. _Which, gross, man. You've probably been victoriously stomping through mud and leaves and the entrails of your enemies all day. No one wants that on their sheets."

Stiles' frown deepens as Derek tucks his legs up on Stiles' pillow in reply.

"Gee, thanks." he mutters, then swivels back to the computer for more researching and doing general wolf pack dogsbody things (no pun intended).

…And feels Derek's freaking _corporeal _brooding gaze follow him. Which he endures for all of ten seconds. Thank you, ADD.

"…What?"

"Nothing."

Stiles swivels violently. "You have got to be shitting me! Can you just shut up and mope or something so I can finish this and catch, what, three hours of sleep before I yield my supple body to the cruel teeth of high school society please? Can that be a thing you do tonight?" Now it is Derek's turn to roll freakishly inhuman eyes.

"You have something on your face."

"I-I what?" Stiles reaches up and scrubs inelegantly at his cheeks and forehead, searching for cheese dust or glue or whatever he usually manages to somehow get on his face. And his elbows. He's always been a messy sort of person.

"Here." Derek points to his own cheek, and Stiles mirrors him, feeling for chocolate or toothpaste.

"Look if you're making me poke myself in the face for fun, you can just fall out that window and look for lucky charms yourself." Stiles says, sick of this weird Simon Says exercise.

"Go look." Because Stiles can hear the edge of a threat on Derek's voice, he humors him and waddles indignantly to the small mirror on the inside of his closet. And sees nothing.

"That, right there." Derek is suddenly a furnace behind him, leaning in, pointing at the birthmark on his left cheek. Stiles casts him the best you-little-whore look he can muster.

"Yeah, see, that thing on my face? _Is my face._"

And then Stiles hears a chuckle behind him.

"Yeah, I know." Derek's teeth are sharp when he smiles, "You're practically a mole constellation."

Stiles half-glares at him, but there's mirth instead of malice in his eyes. "Are you trying to be funny, wolf boy? Because you're not. Also, beauty marks. Not moles."

Stiles is about to sidestep the megalith of 90% muscle mass to go back to his computer but holy shit Derek is crowding him against the closet door and he's pressing a white-hot thumb to Stiles' beauty mark and ohmygodwhy.

Derek can scent no fear in Stiles, just anxiety, as he rubs the pad of his thumb over the little brown dot. He marvels at it, trying to take his mind off the fact that Stiles is a hot commodity underneath him, tense, his muscles tight. He feels his own breaths grow long, his heartbeat go heavy and loud. He doesn't know how much longer he can put this off. God knows he practically had to sit on the floor to keep from rolling in Stiles' bed, covering himself in Stiles scent and Stiles' bed with his own.

A cool hand encircles his arm.

"Derek." At first he hears it as a command, a warning, but realizes it's a sigh. With so much effort it's embarrassing he drags his eyes to meet Stiles' brown ones. His name was a question, Derek realizes. As reality comes back to him he begins to pull away. "Hey, hey, hey wait a sec." Stiles' hand is tight now around his arm and that is all the encouragement Derek needs.

He presses closer into Stiles' space, running his thumb over to Stiles' lips and pulling the bottom one down with the tip of his finger, exposing teeth. And then they're kissing and Derek's hand is a hot brand on Stiles' arm and Stiles' hand is pulling at his hair, pulling him down, pulling him closer and _god_.

Derek's mouth is on his neck and Stiles chuckles when he feels teeth graze his skin. Maybe it was more of a chortle. OK, it was a giggle, but Derek doesn't really seem to care as he licks a hot stripe over his adam's apple. "Told you you liked me." Stiles crows, and feels a replying growl that's more like an aggressive purr against his clavicle. "You're not the only irresistible one here." Derek's hands slide down to his lower ribcage as he traces Stiles' jaw with his nose.

"You think I'm irresistible?" He murmurs, and it's a wicked sound.

"No." Stiles denies, and suddenly Derek's mouth is devouring his and he can't think straight because who could with Derek "Lots of Tongue" Hale planting one on them? No one, that's who. Derek pulls away in favor of biting Stiles' bottom lip and raises his eyebrow questioningly. "Yes." Stiles admits in a breath, and suddenly Derek is all teeth and tongue and goddammit Stiles can't even see straight he's so far gone.

"Me too." Derek offers, a long time later, when he's climbing out onto the Stilinksi house roof. Stiles gives him a look from his place by the window, where his fingers curl over the top of the sill.

"Well, I also find you devastatingly attractive, so try parroting _that _heartfelt line." Derek just smiles a pointy smile as he stands, ready to jump.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks, voice gravelly from all the tonsil hockey.

"Maybe." Stiles replies, sassy to the last.

And then Derek is in front of him, hand clutching the back of his neck, dragging him close. Stiles thinks he is going in for a kiss, but instead he feels Derek lick his birthmark with teasing tongue.

"I always loved this mole." He whispers, warm breath coaxing gooseflesh down Stiles' spine. Before Stiles can protest, or maybe drag him back for more, Derek slips out into the night.

At odds, Stiles licks his lips. "Beauty mark!" he calls, and swears he hears a laugh.


	2. The art of wooing

I am in serious lust with werewolf!Stiles and human!Derek. Deep, deep lust.

Disclaimer: NO. ALRIGHT? NO I DO NOT.

* * *

"Oh my god, seriously?" Derek scooped the mutilated rabbit up with the gardening glove he had been forced to start keeping by the door. "You have to stop."

"Stop what?" Stiles had gone into the other room to change, and by the lingering sounds of bones popping and flesh sliding back into place, it sounded like he was done.

"You know exactly what. You can't keep bringing the dead animals here, it's getting less and less cute with each gored rabbit you drag in." Derek frowned at the answering huff from the next room. He closed his eyes as he listened to the tell-tale whisper of clothing on skin.

"Are you dressed yet?"

Derek looked up from the magazine he had been flipping through when Stiles came in.

"Yeah."

The young werewolf had blood on his mouth and a little on his chest, which was bare on account of Stiles ditzing and forgetting to nab a shirt before he got hairy the night before. The top button of his jeans was undone, showing the waistband of his boxers and the ridiculously distracting lines of his pelvis.

Stiles reddened under Derek's unabashed scrutiny.

"What?"

The human's eyes flicked back to the magazine in his lap (he would never admit it but if he looked any longer he'd tackle Stiles then and there, still bloody from the kill.)

"Just regretting my lust-blinded decisions."

Rolling his eyes, the werewolf shuffled into the kitchen and Derek listened to the water run in interest. Putting the magazine down, he trailed in after his younger companion and watched with odd fascination as Stiles cupped his hands under the faucet and rubbed his palm first over his mouth, then over his chest, cleaning away the red smears last night's hunt had left him with.

With Stiles' back turned, Derek leaned casually against the arch of the entranceway and let his gaze dip lower hungrily. Stiles' lean back curved as he bent over the sink, and Derek's eyes swept over each bump of bone. He studied the sinewy muscle of Stiles' arms, traced the ducked angle of Stiles' neck. He felt his chest grow warm with longing as his eyes roved over sweep after sweep of Stiles' skin.

Suddenly the werewolf snapped up, like someone had flicked a switch, and turned quickly to face Derek where he was now leaning a little more heavily on the wall.

His mouth opened in a fish-like and slightly disbelieving gawp.

"Sweet Jesus and all his children!" Stiles pointed an accusatory finger. "You're horny!"

"Please never use 'Jesus' and 'horny' in the same word phrase ever again. Also, I am _not."_ Derek sniffed, indignant.

Stiles stalked closer, brandishing his finger like a priest pointing out the antichrist.

"You are! Even if I couldn't tell when you're lying, I can smell it! It's…" Stiles finally closed in on his taller counterpart and breathed in deep, pressing against Derek, angling his head for better access. "It's the best thing." When he opened his eyes they were practically silver with lust. "Ever."

That did it. That. Did. _It. _

Stiles was hardly finished saying that single word before Derek was pinning him up against the wall and chasing the tight tendon in Stiles' neck with his tongue. Stiles' long moan turned into a purr-like growl and he gripped a fistful of Derek's hair in his hand, tugging until Derek's face was close enough to press his mouth against.

Excitement traveled down Stiles' back like an electric shock as Derek licked greedily into his mouth, his hot tongue wet and perfect against his own. Derek pressed him farther into a wall, his eagerness only fueling the wolf's aggression. Stiles hooked a leg on Derek's hip and rolled up, satisfied with the slightly dazed look the human gave him in return. Quick to react, though, Derek ground down and practically forced Stiles into an out-of-body experience with the new waft of arousal he gave off.

"Horizontal…hah…surface." the shorter of the two managed to gasp out, pressing his hips upwards when there was no immediate response. "_NOW."_

It took all Stiles had not to claw excitedly at Derek's back as the taller male half dragged half carried him to the master bedroom on the main floor. As it was he was biting into his shoulder like it was the last thing he'd ever do, the effort it took to keep his teeth blunt and human an almost painful experience.

As soon as they hit the sheets Stiles was ripping Derek's shirt off without a hint of remorse. Once his chest was at least bare, the human surged forward, getting his mouth on as much of Stiles as he could. It took Stiles himself a moment to realize the guttural growl that vibrated through the hot air was coming from him, crescendoing with each hickey Derek sucked onto his skin, each aching push of his hips.

Wait a second.

_Derek _was giving him a hickey?

Without much lucid thought Derek found himself on his back with Stiles a growling, writhing mass of hot muscle on top of him.

"_Mine."_

Derek made an embarrassing sound as Stiles' mouth closed searing and wet over his pulse point, his slender hands putting all the right pressure in all the right places. When Stiles' thumb pressed expertly into that tender spot on his lower back, Derek _panted._

Sick of the lousy amount of skin on skin contact, Derek rolled them again and tugged viciously at Stiles' jeans.

"Mm, yes, clothes off, good-" Stiles paused his unintelligible muttering for a moment to kick off his jeans from where Derek had pulled them down to his ankles. "-good idea." He helped Derek shuck his own pants off, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from ripping them too.

When Derek finally crawled back over him again, the both of them in nothing but their boxers, Stiles' eyes were almost white with desire when they looked up at Derek. This earned him a rare gift; an actual smile from the volatile terra cotta statue that was Derek Hale. Stiles' eyes flickered back to brown for a moment with the weight of the fondness that overtook him.

Slower now, less frantic, the werewolf arched up off the bed and kissed along Derek's collarbone, then his chin, then the deep corner of his mouth. Sighing with happiness, he rubbed his cheek along the sweep of stubble on Derek's jaw, savoring its burn.

"You're mine. My mate." Stiles made a happy noise as Derek kissed him slowly and he felt the curve of his smile, the push of his tongue twisting the coil deep in Stiles' stomach ever tighter. The werewolf slid a hand down between sweat-sheened shoulder blades, following the shape of the triscele he could trace blind and upside-down. Derek mouthed lazily at the hard corner of his jaw, and Stiles pressed into his thigh with a content exhale, chest heavy with pleasure. "I love you."

A great stillness settled over Derek's usually buzzing body, and Stiles froze-up accordingly. Every muscle in his body tensed as he felt Derek's pulse escalate alarmingly as if it were his own; felt Derek's breathing stutter to a halt against the hollow under his ear.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Stiles heard his voice as if from far away, and when he tentatively took Derek's face in his hands his palms felt numb and dead, as if he had some vague connection to someone else's body. He could taste panic in his mouth as Derek's painfully human eyes rose to meet his, which had gone from silver to brown in his fear.

But before Stiles could do anything else, could say anything else, Derek was moving against every inch of him, pressing him into the infinity of the mattress with such fervor it hardly helped to lessen Stiles of his fright. His gasped harshly as Derek licked with a satisfied groan along the white column of his neck, up over his chin, to his lips. He kissed Stiles like he had the very first time, when Stiles stood trembling against the wall of his foyer, half naked and covered in mud.

'_My father found out' _his voice was shaking so hard it had been a task to say it without choking on his own tongue. _'you should have seen his face, Jesus Christ, you should have seen his face' _and then he was against the opposite wall, Derek's body a hard line of muscle against his own, kissing him so fiercely he thought his eyes might roll right out of their sockets.

"I love you." Derek was muttering now, like a prayer against his lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Oh thank god." Stiles sighed, lapping against Derek's mouth. "For a minute there I thought of turning myself over to the hunters out of sheer embarrassment."

They couldn't stop then, wouldn't stop. Their boxers were off and they were all over each other, searching for more skin, for more places to taste.

Stiles gasped raggedly, with hardly the strength to moan, as Derek rocked into him.

"Jesus-fuck-Derek-god-ah-Derek-Derek-Derek-"

The link Stiles' skinny ankles made at the base of Derek back was weak, and his thighs were painfully tense with the will he used to hold himself upright. Derek's breath was hot and broken in his ear.

When his climax hit Stiles was glad he had enough sense to sink his teeth into his own forearm rather than Derek's shoulder, because he wouldn't have been able to force his teeth back to human if he tried.

Minutes later, the two lay exhausted, curled tight around the other as if this was the last opportunity they'd ever have to twine close to the other, their legs tangled, their hearts pulsing heavy and content.

Face lax with happiness, Derek turned to the werewolf next to him and watched as Stiles idly licked the blood from his arm even as the wound healed.

"You should turn me."

The bulky human wrapped his arms around Stiles tightly when the sheriff's son gave an outraged squawk and began to wriggle away.

"No! Are you _crazy?_ I know I bring about _fantastic _post-coital highs, but _seriously_?"

"Stiles. _Stiles."_ Derek's voice was raw from all the previous kissing. "I'm your mate, right?"

"My _human _mate, yeah."

"_Stiles." _This time it was practically a whine. "I want feel what you feel. I want to change next to you in the dark. I want to run with you, hunt with you." With each sentence Stiles' eyes burned a little brighter, his teeth growing sharper with each confession. He attempted to snap himself out of it.

"You don't, Derek, you don't. You don't know what it's like. The hunters will be after you, you'll have to lie, have to hide, have to-" Stiles' voice broke, "have to kill. You don't want that."

He sucked in a sharp breath when Derek pulled him closer and bared his human teeth . "Don't tell me what I want." Stiles couldn't help baring his fangs back at him, snarling in approval at his mate's aggression.

"Bite me." Derek twisted to press into Stiles' sweet spot high up on the back of his right thigh.

Stiles' gasp was rough as it dove down into his lungs. "No-" He saw spots when Derek pressed harder.

"_Bite. Me."_

With a growl that started low in his diaphragm and crawled out of his throat like a black, shapeless thing, Stiles bit deep into the hard, sweet muscle of Derek's shoulder, sinking his sharp teeth as far as the taut flesh would give so his mate wouldn't try to get away.

If Derek had cried out, Stiles would have probably broken down into a sobbing blubbery mess in his horror. Instead, Stiles felt his mate tense, let out a small sound, as soft as a sigh, before he gave completely and leaned heavily into the sink of Stiles' wicked jaws.

After what seemed like a terrible eternity, Stiles pulled away, lapping helplessly at the wound and making small, worry-stricken noises.

"It's okay, it's okay." Derek's voice was stronger than Stiles would've expected so soon after the bite.

Nonetheless, the younger of the two continued to soothe the wound until it began to heal, signaling the beginning of the change.

"It's fine, I'm alright." Derek nuzzled deep into the curve of Stiles' neck as he hummed fretfully. "I'm happy."

Stiles looked at him questioningly.

"You're all mine, I'm all yours. There's nothing holding you back from me." The new werewolf nipped gently at his maker's neck and chuckled. "You can bite me in blissed-out passion without worrying."

Grabbing his mate by the hair, Stiles pressed flush against him and breathed in. "_Mine." _he growled. It tasted final on his tongue.

The two wolves curled close. "_Mine." _came the satisfied echo.


End file.
